Evidence of William
by J.A.Kishu
Summary: Sherlock finds little traces stemming from his time as little William. They are everywhere: on the fridge, in his sock-drawer or in his coat. There was no part of 221B that hadn't been touched by the child. Part 9 of Little Sherlock
1. No eyeballs

**Evidence of William**

 _(Part 9 of Little Sherlock)_

 **Chapter 1: No eyeballs**

Still clad only in his bed sheet which he must have taken last night from his bed, Sherlock walked over to the fridge. He was thinking of starting a new experiment considering the last one had been a success. He had put some fingers in the fridge yesterday. No wait; it was a week ago before he had finished the re-aging potion. John was reading something on his laptop. It was still early and Sherlock wanted to let him be for a while. After all he had watched over and taken care of his little-self for a week. That couldn't have been easy.

Sherlock was deep in his thoughts until he was standing directly in front of the fridge and he noticed something that had not been there last week. A piece of paper was pinned to the door with four little magnets. It had been clearly drawn by a child who still had to learn how to draw proportions correctly. There was something familiar about the picture. Sherlock touched the drawing with his fingers and let them travel over the paper.

It showed two people and a bee. "John why is there a children picture on our fridge?" John didn't answer and Sherlock looked closer: the smaller person looks a bit like him, the clothes and the hair. Near the two people was something like a cup with a smiley face on it and containing a hot liquid. There was also a grey blotch that looked like a human skull. "Did I draw that?" He continued to look at the picture. The other person could be John in his comfy jumper. The green one, even he had to admit that it felt nice. Not that he would ever tell John that one of his jumpers was nice.

"It was a present from William and I would prefer for you leave the picture alone." John didn't sound disinterested, more worried that he could destroy it or something like that. But how could he destroy this piece of 'art' clearly giving evidence of the fact that John had become a special person for him. He must have done something truly remarkable to get his child-self to trust him. Even more: to love him. Sherlock knew he hadn't been good with people as a child. He was still not really able to understand them most of the time, but John had done this: he had received William's heart so fast. He had been right by entrusting himself to his friend. It had been a risk. He had never reacted positively to people, especially new ones, exceptions being Mycroft and Nana. And he had had his friend, Mr. Bee, he hadn't been lonely.

For the last time he touched the yellow bee and the green jumper before he opened the door of the fridge. He wouldn't tell John how close he was to tears. His friend had managed to take a huge place in William's heart. It had been a good idea to let himself be a child again. His little-self had deserved a bit of happiness. "John where are the fingers I put in the fridge last week?"

"You mean the eyeballs? I threw them away." John had turned around now and his laptop rested on the table next to him, closed.

"What I said and why did you throw them away? I needed them for an experiment." That was not really true but he liked to argue about this with John. He always felt how much his friend cared when the discussion had something to do with food, body parts in the fridge and contamination.

"They would have gone bad anyway and I had a child with me. It's not a good thing to have a child sneaking around and letting him find body parts, weapons or chemicals." John looked at him as if to say that this information shouldn't be anything new to him. That it was common human knowledge. Something Sherlock had obviously deleted a long time ago. "But Molly has something for you. We can go over to Bart's and get it. She will be a bit disappointed to see you grown up again. She got to see you only once when you started to change back and were feeling sick." Sherlock was a bit horrified by that information.

"How many people saw me like that and who knows I was that child?" He didn't want to be teased about his shy and a very insecure little-self.

"Only the people you trust most." John blinked at him and stood up to get ready for their visit to Bart's. "You should get dressed if you want that brain Molly is saving for you." Sherlock's eyes lit up.

"She got it?" Jumping up Sherlock rushed over to his room and was dressed in less than a minute. "Hurry up John, we need to see Molly." John smiled as he followed his still a bit childlike flatmate down the stairs to jump into the next cab, so that the mad man could start an experiment with a brain.

John decided he didn't want to know what this experiment was about.


	2. Chaos

**Chapter 2: Chaos**

The hot shower was exactly what he needed after spending hours in the cold London weather waiting for something to happen. It had been a long shot and the end result was nothing but cold feet and wasted time.

Wrapped in a towel Sherlock walked through the hall from the bathroom to his bedroom. The pajama and his dressing gown lay ready on the bed; the only thing that was missing was his socks. He opened the sock-drawer and found chaos. Not the mess Mrs. Hudson did when she 'tidied up', not the 'very discrete searching' John did for drugs or the mayhem after a drugs bust by Lestrade and the incompetent police force. No this was a new kind of chaos.

The socks were no longer sorted by how often they were worn and not in the order of how to wear them to which suit. It wasn't a complete chaos Sherlock noticed. He knelt down and let his fingers travel over the fabric.

"I made William tidy up after he took them all out of the drawer. He said he would sort them properly." Surprised to find John standing in the door Sherlock looked back at the socks. "He couldn't figure out your system. Can you figure out his?" It was a challenge but also something Sherlock could concentrate on. He was sometimes a bit confused since the experiment and all the things that had changed during the past week made him feel uncomfortable at times. That is why John tried to let him focus on things that could give him some sort of hold.

"He… I sorted them from the softest material to the roughest. In the order he would like to wear them." Sherlock had to smile. As a child he liked soft clothes, the feeling of the fabrics between his fingers made him think of Mr. Bee, Mycroft's hugs and Nana's kisses.

John smiled too. That was exactly the kind of system William would apply. Apparently Sherlock didn't mind the chaos. He could change it back if he wanted to. "You should get dressed, your feet are getting cold and we were outside in the cold long enough." Leaving Sherlock to his business with the socks, John went back to the kitchen and turned on the kettle to make a nice cup of tea for both of them.


	3. Neverland

**Chapter 3: Neverland**

An evening in front of the fire with a warm cup of tea made by John and the company of his best friend, could there be anything better? Sherlock and John were enjoying a quiet evening. Sherlock suspected that John hadn't had one for quite a few days. After all his hard work with him as a child now he wouldn't be interrupted while reading and Sherlock wouldn't spoil the book by telling John who the murderer was. He had figured it out after reading the first page; it was obvious it had been the nanny in a rage brought about by jealousy.

Sherlock had missed a whole week but after an afternoon sitting in front of the computer he had gathered all the important information he needed. Thank god he hadn't missed an interesting case. This experiment with the re-aging potion had been timed exactly right. He just wished to remember the things he had done.

The living room hadn't changed much since before the experiment. Only a few details were different. The desk looked disorganized as if someone had made a mess on it. There were papers and crayons on the small table by the sofa, probably for him to draw. The kitchen was missing his lab equipment as John had put it away so William wouldn't touch it.

John had tidied away all of William's things after he had grown up again, all the clothes and toys but he had overseen a few things which were still lying around. Like the DVD that was lying next to the TV: Peter Pan. He had never watched it or couldn't remember watching it. It looked like a movie for children with children and pirates and little fairies.

He was a grown man, he couldn't watch the movie, even though he really only wanted to know what his child version liked. He could take the movie and his laptop and watch it in his room. No one would notice. But he needed to get John away from the living room for a few seconds. He could ask him to get him something but that would annoy John and he didn't want to do that. He could…

"Sherlock if you want to watch the movie, watch it but stop that overthinking of how to get me out of the room." Surprised Sherlock looked up. His eyes were fixed on the DVD on the floor. He hadn't noticed that John was watching him. "I will even watch it with you again if you like."

Sherlock's first instinct was to deny the fact that he really wanted to watch a movie for children but John's eyes told him he didn't mind and he wouldn't think less of him. Sherlock nodded to confirm John's words, stood up and got the DVD player started. The TV was turned on and a nice evening in front of the fire was continued in the company of a few pirates, fairies and Peter Pan.


	4. Inside the pocket

**Chapter 4: Inside the pocket**

Sherlock threw his coat onto the closest surface and let himself fall on the sofa; he could hear a soft sound next to his ear that let him sit up again. The sound stopped and Sherlock looked around the living room to find the origin of this noise. It had sounded as if little pieces of something had fallen to the floor but in the whole flat and particularly in this room there was nothing that would make this sound, especially not with the limited movement that he had had since he had entered the room.

He hadn't bothered with turning on the lights because he only wanted to sleep after the last long case but now he got up and switched the light on. His coat had hit the small table next to John's chair, but nothing on it had been knocked down. On the floor under the table and the chair and around it lay quite a few items.

Little stones, chestnuts, dried flowers and leafs, a small toy car, some seeds, a few coins, feathers from a blackbird and something that looked like a claw from an animal. Sherlock collected all the items from the floor and found more in one of his coat pockets. He could not remember putting these things in there and could not think of any reason why he should have.

Feeling the chestnut in his hand and holding up one of the leafs Sherlock had to smile. These things must be what William had gathered from the walks with John. His friend had told him that he was always searching for things to take home with him. That must have been his secret hiding place for these things: 'John's flat mate's coat'.

Remembering back, Mycroft had told him once that he used to do that at home too. But if he didn't hide his treasures, and one of the maids would find them, they would be thrown away. He did get better with time in hiding he things but there had been a few incidents where his collection had ended in the trash causing quite a few tears.

Smiling sadly Sherlock collected every piece of William's treasure and placed the things carefully in an empty cigar box. He then took a marker and wrote on the lid before returning to the sofa and falling asleep instantly.

*William's treasure-box*

-DO NOT TOUCH-


	5. Sweet breakfast

**Chapter 5: Sweet breakfast**

"Sherlock, I'm making eggs and toast, do you want some?" John shouted from the kitchen. His friend had been up all night and the day before and the night before that, all because of this stupid code-cracking case. A case where John couldn't help, just sit around until Sherlock's brilliant mind would find the answer.

"I'm on a case, not eating and I am not hungry anyway. Be quiet, I'm thinking." John rolled his eyes and started preparing breakfast. When he opened the cupboard he finds the honey that he had brought with William for their breakfasts. It seemed Sherlock had not found it yet and had therefore not used it for any experiment. It should be safe to eat.

Armed with tea, toast, eggs and the morning newspaper he placed the plates and cups on the table Sherlock was working on. "You are eating. No discussion. You haven't eaten for two days now. It's only breakfast, don't be so stubborn." Sherlock looked up at him, stressed and angry and also a bit frustrated, but when John placed the plate directly on his papers he had no choice but to at least look at it.

"Since when do we own honey?" Sherlock sounded surprised and started to taste the yellow liquid with his fingers. It looked like his friend hadn't even noticed he was eating when he had started eating without complaining.

"We bought it when you were little William and wanted the jar with the biggest bee on it." John smiled and started eating his own breakfast.

"Did I find it?" John looked up confused. "The one with the biggest bee?"

"Oh yes you did. After getting lost in the store and crying until I found you." Sherlock swallowed the piece of bread. "You were really cute on the way home. Holding Mr. Bee, the honey and my shirt really tightly. I had no chance whatsoever to get away from you." John blinked to show Sherlock that he meant it as a joke.

"But we got the honey." Sherlock tried to take the topic away from his crying and clinging phase.

"Yes, Sherlock, we did get the honey. Would you like another piece of toast with it?" Sherlock nodded as he swallowed the last piece.


	6. Best friend

**Chapter 6: Best friend**

The shower felt good on his skin. He had been sweating and his muscles ached from changing back to his adult-self. The warm water relaxed him and now Sherlock felt a bit more like himself. Like Sherlock Holmes and not William. He couldn't remember what about being little William had been partly good and what not so good.

He would like to remember what he was thinking when he was little and the decisions he had taken for what reason, with what thought processes. John had told him he had taken a few pictures, about although Sherlock was not really sure about their scientific value. The picture of him eating jam was clearly just for John's - and he feared also Lestrade's - amusement.

The little boy had touched John's heart and apparently everyone else's he had come in contact with. He couldn't really remember, but he was sure that he hadn't been that loved as a child. Yes his Nana and Mycroft loved him and showed him that as much as they could but even Donavan had liked his little self.

Dressed in his pajamas and dressing grown Sherlock entered the kitchen for a nice tea. John was not there, gone to… a pub he thought, something about catching up with a few of his 'buddies'. Sherlock didn't like the word. He could call them 'friends' or, in this case, 'former colleagues' from work or university or the army but not 'buddies', what did that mean anyway?

But Sherlock had the living room for himself; maybe he could start a new experiment. He had a brain in the freezer Molly had given to him. Or he could compose a new piece for his violin; he hadn't played in a while, could be fun.

With the tea in his hand Sherlock walked to his chair and passed a big box on the way. The box John had packed a few hours ago. The box with Williams's things: clothes, toys… Sherlock placed the tea on the table next to John's chair and opened the box, kneeling next to it.

Right on top of all the clothes, crayons and wooden toys was his friend, Mr. Bee. Carefully he lifted the toy out of the box and settled down in his chair. It was stupid to be that protective about an old toy. He knew he wouldn't destroy it but what harm could come from cuddling it a bit.

"Hello Mr. Bee." Sherlock whispered into the bee's ears. "It wasn't nice from John to put you to all the other things into the box, we will need to let him know that you don't like dark places." Sherlock's fingers touched the wing with the sewing that Mycroft had done to save the wing and the soft fabric of the antennas. Touch was always his preferred sense: with that he identified the world. The feeling of the violin wood under his fingers after he had cleaned her or the cold metal of the microscope.

"That's right you really feel nice Mr. Bee but there is a reason why you can't be in this flat and why you have to go back to Mycroft. It's not safe here. There are fires, chemical experiments, robbers and other criminals who could hurt you." Sherlock hadn't notice his change of words which had gone from damaging a toy to hurting a friend. "Imagine there is a bomb in the flat and I have no way to save you. Mycroft has a safe for you in his house. It will not get destroyed by fires or explosion. Still I would prefer to keep you here."

He had emptied his cup and turned off the light; he had had enough for one day and was for a change tired. There was no experiment, case or anything else interesting to do, so he could sleep. Sherlock slipped under the covers and took two deep breaths, slowing his heartbeat down; next was shutting his mind down, long enough for sleep to take over. Two seconds later Sherlock was sleeping with his little friend secure in his arms.


End file.
